you put your arms around me and i'm home
She can never deny him much lately when he gives her that sad puppy dog look he's perfected, which is why Kate Beckett finds herself leaning over Richard Castle's stove on a Friday night, hot and sweaty and sighing in frustration.
He had begged her to dye Easter eggs with him, insisting they needed at least two dozen, and now she's been left to watch this giant pot on his giant hot stove, practically sticking her face in the thing because she doesn't know what she's supposed to be doing.
She can't feel too put out though, because all she's been doing since dinner is nursing a glass of wine and watching him dart around his kitchen, covering the island in newspapers, dragging dyes and pastel-colored cups down from high cabinets. He told stories about past Easters - how he and Alexis would have egg-dyeing contests and let Martha choose the best designs, the father/daughter Peep-jousting fights, the struggles of getting up before his daughter to set out baskets of goodies on Easter Sunday mornings. She's glad she could do something like this with him since Alexis wasn't able to make it home for the weekend and as much as he tries to be macho about it, he's still not used to being an empty nester.
Just as she's about to pick up the plastic spoon sitting on the counter and poke around a little, an arm snakes around her waist and Castle's head pops over her right shoulder, inspecting the eggs momentarily before switching off the stove with the hand not resting on her right hip.
"Ready!" He proclaims, loosening his hold and moving her aside, planting a kiss on her temple as he moves forward to pick up the pot and place it in the sink. After he's made the final egg preparations and laid everything out on the island, he moves to the opposite side and picks up one of the wax crayons, holding it out to her across the kitchen.
"May the best man win," he grins, waiting for her to take the drawing utensil out of his hand.
"Who's judging?" She pushes off the counter towards the island, surveying the array of dyes laid out between them.
"Well, the New York Times has referred to one of us as a true artist," he exaggerates the word with a French accent, earning an eyeroll from Beckett as she finally grabs the crayon out of his hand and purses her lips at him; she can almost see the backpedaling happening in his brain. "So I guess… you?"
She smirks, finally choosing a cup of light purple dye and bringing it to her side of the island, settling an egg inside a wire holder and dunking it in only to look up and see Castle scrunching his nose at her. "One color?" He says distastefully and she makes a face at him in response.
"Give me some time, Picasso, it's been awhile since I've done this." She swirls her egg around in the dye, eyeing the egg he has in one hand and the crayon in the other. "What masterpiece are you starting out with?"
"You'll see." He wiggles his eyebrows at her and hides the egg with one hand as if she could somehow make out the nearly-invisible wax on the white. They work in silence for a few minutes, Beckett starting a second egg, getting a little more adventurous and trying two different colors on either end. She's setting it down to dry next to her purple one when Castle pulls his first project out of the red dye and does a satisfied fist pump.
Leaning over the island, a surprised laugh bursts out of her when she sees Nikki Heat's silhouette, the outline from the Heat Wave cover with "Detective Heat, NYPD" scrawled messily around the rest of the egg. He grins proudly, going to set it down on the newspaper so that he can reach for his iPhone, presumably to take a picture.
"Castle!" He jumps when she yells and she quiets her voice, a little sheepish but still just as commanding. "Don't mess up my egg, let it dry."
"Your egg?" His eyebrows shoot up, arm paused in the middle of reaching into his back pocket and she flushes but grabs the wire out of his hands, setting the egg down properly next to hers. He mumbles something about Rook's apologies as he finally snaps a picture with his phone but she ignores it, picking up the wax crayon she had set down before and looking up with a glint in her eye.
"Alright, I'm done warming up." She raises an eyebrow at him. "It's on."
She's surprised that they actually get through most of the two dozen eggs as they go back and forth drawing handcuffs, yellow taxicabs, eggs ("Eggception!" Castle proclaims), and even a few inappropriate things Castle doodles - she makes a mental note to use them for breakfast the next morning before anyone else sees them.
When they're nearing the end of the stash and she's in the middle of trying to get her cartoon Ryan and Esposito exactly right, Castle comes around to her side of the island and holds out a blue egg with something small drawn on it. She squints at it for a moment before looking up at him.
"A key?" He nods, smiling slightly, and she blinks at him once or twice before going back to her design. "If you tell me that's the key to my heart or something equally ridiculous, I might have to laugh in your face."
"Actually." He pauses after the one word and she looks up at him again, brows knit together. "I was thinking it could be like… a metaphorical key. To here." At the look on her face he hurries on, "I mean, I'm not actually asking you to move in right now, but I've been thinking about it and thought maybe it was something you might want to think about it because, I mean, when was the last time you spent more than one night in a row at home anyway, and, Beckett," he makes that puppy dog face yet again, "I'm just so awfully lonely in this big apartment all by myself-"
She kisses him, her fingers wrapping around the hand of his that's holding the egg key, her other hand going to his waist to tug him closer, hopes he can feel her smiling into his mouth. She suspects yes, because before she knows it, they've shifted and he has her pressed up against the island, a leg between both of hers, tongue sliding along the roof of her mouth and then-
Her 'oh!' of surprise is caught in his mouth for a moment until they pull away from each other and look down at their joined hands, now tinted a little blue with a mess of hard-boiled egg mashed up between their fingers. He groans in disgust after she removes her hand and goes to shake his over the sink, spattering little pieces of shell against the stainless steel.
"Well," Beckett shakes her head, "I'm certainly not going to be able to fit that in the lock now."
"Forget the egg." He's back across the kitchen, lifting her up, mouth claiming her neck. "Let's christen your new kitchen counter."
"Amen," she grunts out as she fists her hands in his shirt, eyes closing as his mouth descends lower. He stops and looks up at her, a glint of amusement in his eye, and he squeezes both of her thighs as he places himself between her jean-clad legs.
"He is risen, after all."
Her eyes pop open. "Jesus Christ, Castle!"
"Exactly!" He crows, mouth returning to its slow descent down her body, and suddenly her words of admonishment don't seem quite as important.